


One of Many

by Minxie



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-03
Updated: 2013-10-03
Packaged: 2017-12-28 06:38:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/988909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Minxie/pseuds/Minxie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shipwrecked on an island, Oliver Queen's life becomes a series of firsts. Very few of them are worth trying a second time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One of Many

**Author's Note:**

> **Prereader:** @aislinntlc  
>  **Disclaimer:** *snort* Did this happen? No? Then they aren't mine.

The first time Slade fucks Oliver, they're covered in sweat and grime, bruises and blood discoloring their skin. It's nowhere near perfect, barely skates the furthest edge of pleasant.

And it's a literal ocean away from familiar. 

The usual whispered words of love, or even lust, are replaced with growled demands for more, more, _more_. The swell of breasts and gentle flare of hips exchanged with the ripple of tightly packed abs and pecs, bulging muscle that screams safety and protection.

The delicate scent of flowered perfume a long ago memory, found only in the dreams that plague Oliver every night. Instead it's the stench of earth and exhaustion, of loneliness and abandonment. 

Oliver isn't even sure how he ended up here, with his back wedged against a tree and his cock riding Slade's thigh. 

One minute they're training, the sting of the cold rain almost worse than each blow Slade lands against Oliver's torso, and the next minute Oliver is losing his footing, hands searching for purchase in the threadbare cotton of Slade's tank top.

Together they tumble down the hill. Slade's tank gives way under Oliver's grasp, and, when they finally come to a hard stop at the base of a tree, Oliver has a face full of chest and Slade's erection pushing against his hipbone.

Breaths hitching in his throat, Oliver watches as Slade's eyes darken, arousal and want obvious in the inky depths. 

"Yes," Oliver hisses, raising his head in an attempt to capture Slade's mouth in a kiss. A futile attempt.

Slade twines his fingers in Oliver's hair and wrenches his head back. He noses along the exposed length of neck and, lips ghosting over Oliver's ear, says, "You don't know what you're asking for, kid."

"I don't," Oliver agrees. Then, ignoring the tug of his hair and the burn tingling over his scalp, he cants his head to the side and mouths Slade's Adam's apple, dragging his teeth along the straining cords of Slade's neck. "Doesn't change that yes to a no."

"Kid," Slade murmurs, releasing his hold on Oliver's head.

Before Oliver has time to decipher the broken pitch of that single word, Slade's hands are between them, working open buttons and zips, shoving the stiff fabric of their pants to their knees and then further down until their black and grey pants tangle together in a pool at their feet. Then Oliver feels the head of Slade's cock push against his sac and a litany of _Please, yes, now. Slade._ tumbles unbidden from his mouth. 

He just wants to _feel_ something. Anything. Especially if it's something that doesn't make him long for everything he used to have.

"It's going to hurt."

Oliver bites back a hysterical laugh. Pain is appropriate, he thinks. There's been nothing but pain since he watched Sara disappear beneath the churning ocean, and his father sacrifice himself in the hopes that Oliver would survive. 

If there were no pain, Oliver doubts he'd believe it was real.

A spit-slick finger trails over his ass cheek and circles his hole, once and then once again, and all of Oliver's concentration skitters away from the past and focuses on the present, on the finger invading his ass.

"Relax," Slade snaps.

Taking in a deep breath, Oliver releases it slowly, willing his body to go lax. He wants this, wants something new and exciting. Something that has nothing to do with training and fighting and _surviving_. 

"That's it." Slade's voice is gruff, raspier than usual. "Another one."

The burn of two fingers flexing in his ass draws a sharp gasp from Oliver. Spit and rain water are not enough to squash the drag of skin-against-skin.

Slade stops moving, his fingers deep in Oliver's ass, and asks, "Kid? Oliver?"

"Don't stop," Oliver grunts. Please, god, he thinks, don't stop. Squeezing his eyes shut, pretending that the tears leaking at the corners of his eyes are really raindrops sneaking through the cover of the trees, he repeats, "Don't stop."

"I won't."

Oliver hears Slade spit and then feels the head of a thick cock worked into his ass, spreading him in ways he'd never contemplated before. Heat curls around his spine, flaring outwards along each nerve, raising goosebumps over his skin and prickling the hairs at the back of his neck.

Fingers digging into Oliver's thighs, Slade fucks into Oliver with short, jabby strokes. 

The friction, the pull of each thrust, pushes more tears from Oliver's eyes. He's being shattered from the inside, the same way the island destroyed him on the outside.

Maybe, hopefully, all of the pieces, both inside and out, can be put back together forming a stronger, more durable whole. A whole that actually has a chance at enduring this special version of island life.

Pushing Oliver's legs further apart, Slade leans forward and whispers, "Open your eyes, Oliver. Look at who's fucking you."

Oliver blinks his eyes open and immediately get lost in the arousal, the satisfaction so easy to see in Slade's eyes. It's the first time he's been able to read anything other than frustration and anger in Slade's face.

Nodding his head once, Slade wraps his hand around Oliver's right wrist. Silently he guides Oliver's hand downward, smirking when Oliver's hand bumps his own rigid cock.

"Oh," Oliver gasps, fingers curling tight around his dick. He hadn't even realized he was hard, much less so close to tipping over the pinnacle and spiraling down with release. "Oh, _yes_."

One… two… nine strokes of his cock, Oliver's body tightens, his ass clenching around Slade's cock, and he comes.

Slade grunts and then starts powering into Oliver's ass, pushing in balls deep and then retreating until the head of his cock is stretching Oliver's hole. With a deep moan, Slade jerks Oliver closer to him and grinds against Oliver's ass.

Seconds tick by as they lay twined together, panting.

"Ready, kid?"

"Yeah," Oliver replies softly. He groans as he forces himself up. 

He's going to feel this for days. 

Just like the knife wounds that bastard Billy Wintergreen gave him, and the dislocated shoulder he credits to Shado and her hand-to-hand combat training. 

This is just another first being branded into Oliver's soul, staking its claim with a fiery, unforgettable pain.

Only this first… it's one Oliver wouldn't mind trying a second time.

ξ


End file.
